LEAH FARISH|GUEST

A popular line in Christian contemporary songs is “You were made for more.”  The audience I conjure is the careworn mom with her hands in dishwater or a man aimlessly walking through a dreary urban landscape. But don’t we all suspect from time to time that God’s plan for us involves more glamor, appreciation, and gratification than we’re currently experiencing? Actually, we might do better to think in terms of “less.”

We might “say less.” I love this Gen Z phrase for “You needn’t say more—I understand.” It also reminds me of Paul’s standard for speech as he set forth in Ephesians 4:29—”Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs.” Similarly, we might consider owning less, or worrying less—overall, doing less.

I love the line from an old Shirley Temple movie: “But Max, it’s a great oppahtunity.” Max replies, “I’ve gotten where I am today by passing up great oppahtunities.” Sometimes we need to realize that even though a thing is great to do, it’s not great for us to do. We have limits that are part of our humanness. As we enter fall’s whirl of activities, often featuring competitions and vicarious activity through school-age children, we might consider three things before taking on more:

If I commit to this, what will I reduce elsewhere?

Will the time come out of scrolling on social media (green flag), or will it cut down on my prayer life or devotional time (red flag)? If I count on sleeping an hour less to keep this commitment, is that realistic? Will I just speed up some other task, like serving simpler meals? As Covenant College professor Kelly Kapic says, zooming through our days isn’t necessarily holy— “God could have created the world in a milli-second, but He didn’t. God is comfortable with process.”[1]

Is my ego driving this decision?

Am I returning to a role because I’ve done it for so long? Do I think no one else could do it as well?  As an attorney, I have grieved over several leaders who clung to their position—and its attendant sense of importance—long after they should have helped raise up replacements. Moses had to be taught to delegate (Exodus 18:14-23), but seemed to have learned his lesson by the time he laid hands on his successor Joshua and went quietly away to meet his Maker (Deut. 34:1, 5-6).

We are wise to wonder, “Would I be doing this if I didn’t have the title or the visibility that goes along with the work?” “Am I jealous of those who get more recognition, or a paycheck for what I am doing?” Sometimes taking the smaller job is a bigger offering to God in terms of humility.

Am I doing this out of love?

Year ago, a professor was advising a young Christian man about career choices. He said, “Sometimes I want to go into business and make a million so I can have a comfortable family and give lots of money away. Other times I wish I could just own nothing and live like Saint Francis.”  The professor told him, “Whatever you do, whether you’re wealthy or poor, do it for love.”

Occasionally, as we raised our kids and cared for elderly relatives, I asked my family members, “What could I do to make you feel more loved?” Other times, I started to ask it, but I didn’t dare to hear the answer! I felt I couldn’t do anything more. At those times, I backed up and examined my priorities, because I didn’t have time for love.

We do well to, as Kelly Kapic says, “take time to carefully think about our creatureliness. This will reveal limits, dependence, love, reliance on the grace of God, and worship.” [2] Now, that’s big.

[1] https://merefidelity.com/podcast/youre-only-human-with-kelly-kapic/?utm_source=chatgpt.com

[2] https://www.challies.com/book-reviews/youre-only-human/

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